Everyone But Him
by marap
Summary: Sara can’t think of Michael. She won’t. Instead, she remembers those people that came into her life before him.


Author's notes: This was written for 2008 Challenge 1, Flashforward Fever, at PB Hiatus Fic Challenges.

**Everyone But Him**

She refuses to think of him. The refusal is proving a difficult task. Her mind swaying to him had become something natural, a frequent occurrence. More than that even. Enough thoughts of him to consume her. But no longer would she think of him, not here. Not in this place. Not in this empty room where she is alone, still captive, but alive.

Her mind is tired. Here, there is nothing to do but think. Her wrists and ankles ache, and she selfishly wishes LJ were still here, for then she would have someone to talk to, rather than driving herself crazy with thoughts kept entirely to herself. She had thought of Michael every day since she last saw him. But right now, instead of letting her mind clutch onto him, Sara thinks of others. Of everyone else. Anyone and everyone who has come into – and by varied means left – her life. Everyone but him.

She thinks of her father. If he were alive right now, and he knew what had happened to her, where she was right now, she only hoped he would care. That was all she had ever wanted from him. She remembered the night after her mother had died. Her father – ever proud and stoic - had uncharacteristically whispered a faint _"it'll be okay" _into her ear as she cried herself to sleep. The minimal act of comfort he offered had somehow, in that moment, been enough. Or so near to it, that it had meant her tears subsided that night. But they only started up again when she awoke, and her father's rough hand was not there to cradle her own.

She thinks of Colin. One part of a string of foolish boys, all so far from being stalwart men. Boys with whom her long ago relationships still fill a small piece of her soul with shame. She had never been naive; she had known Colin wasn't a great guy – or anything close to it. But that hadn't mattered. To her, he was the only person she was worthy of. For there is no fairness in dreaming of something better, when you know the dream is not one you deserve.

She thinks of Shelley. A woman who had clutched a torch lighting the darkened tunnel that Sara had been stumbling through. Shelley had been nothing like Sara, and yet she understood her. She understood her problem. For it was the only way in which the two were the same. And really, understanding was all Sara needed. That, and the reminder that her problem – her _addiction_ – didn't mean she was forever doomed. Shelley had made peace with her problem and lived a normal life. Sara had wanted that.

She thinks of Katie. Perhaps the only person who she – in her adult life – had ever truly called a friend. Katie knew of Sara's past and her faults, but she simply didn't mind. Sara was always grateful for that. She remembered the one time she met Katie's husband and son. Katie didn't like them coming to the prison, even just to meet up with her at the end of the day. And Sara, whose social life had seemingly existed at the prison, rarely saw Katie outside of their place of work. But on one Saturday afternoon, Katie had somehow convinced Sara to spend the afternoon with her and her family. They had gone to the park, and Sara had watched Katie's husband as he tossed their two-year old son up into the air before safely catching him again, a game that made the child squeal in delight. Katie had noticed Sara smile lightly – and somewhat sadly - as she watched the scene before her.

She thinks of Henry. So disappointed in her he had been. Probably still is. She had first met Henry on that winter's day three years ago when she had walked - faux confidence and all - through the prison gates for the first time. She liked Henry Pope immediately. He was kind, but surprised – perhaps unconvinced - by the non-threatening, attractive woman before him. Sara had known what he was thinking: "How will she ever survive in a place like this?" It was when he – clumsily, but gently – articulated this concern, that Sara had found conviction. She could do this. She would do this.

But now, with the bitter taste of blood on her tongue as it grazes her lip and her right foot caked in dirt, her determined stubbornness and her gutsy spirit are starting to fade… a feeling she is becoming used to, but by no means comfortable with. And she thinks that maybe, if she doesn't think of Michael, she can accept this. Accept that maybe this is the end. Yet his voice is ever prevalent in her head. _"Optimism, hope, faith… optimism, hope, faith…"_ It's like the chorus of an annoying pop song stuck on repeat in her mind. And for once, she just wishes Michael would leave her head, and just let her be. Cynical, worn and broken, in all her glory. And yet somehow, she can't let go. There's a strange feeling that won't leave her; it didn't take a genius to figure out that this feeling is hope.


End file.
